What If She Wasn't?
by Adelina Le Morte March
Summary: AU ending to The Lady of the Lake episode. Instead of taking Freya to the lake, Merlin decides to bring her into the castle and try to make her better, refusing to believe the wound is too deep. But, even as she gets better, the problem remains that everyone in Camelot will still be searching for a girl. Which raises the question, what if Freya WASN'T one? One-shot.


_What If She Wasn't?_  
**An alternate ending of sorts to _The Lady of the Lake_, Season 2, episode 9**

Merlin placed the torch down and took off his coat, coming over and bending down so he could put it over a naked, shivering, injured Freya as she lay, sprawled out, on the catacomb floor, sobbing her poor heart out.

As he gently brushed her dark hair away from her face, which her tears made it cling to, she wept, "You must hate me."

"No..." He shook his head, trying vainly to hold back tears of his own.

"I'm a monster," she gasped out, wincing in continued pain. "I tried to tell you..." She clenched her jaw, trying to be strong. "I wasn't always like this."

"Shh..." said Merlin. "You shouldn't try to talk."

"There was a man... He attacked me..." She sniffled. "I didn't mean to hurt him, but I thought he was going to kill me."

"It was an accident," Merlin blurted.

"His mother was a sorceress," panted Freya, laboring for breath. "And when she found out... That I killed her son..." She turned her head to look up at him. "She cursed me to kill forevermore."

"I'm going to make you better, Freya."

"No." It was hopeless. "Merlin, the wound's too deep. Please go."

Adamantly, the young warlock shook his head. "No. I'm not leaving you here."

Maybe the wound wasn't so bad as Freya thought... Definitely she was gravely injured -Arthur had certainly struck her a blow to be reckoned with- but perhaps... If there was some way...some way to help her...

If only he were more skilled; if only he were like Gaius in knowledge of medicines, rather than just a novice, a makeshift apprentice, a helper...

If he took her to Gaius now, would he -he who had betrayed her to Uther to protect the people of Camelot from the Bastet- be willing to try and help her? Surely, even as things were, he could not turn away an injured young woman... But he might tell Uther all over again, and then... And then what?

What I _should_ do, Merlin thought, is take her to the lake of Avalon.

There she would see her beloved waves and mountains and trees, maybe even her wildflowers and light, and take heart, knowing he remembered and that she was in a safe place now. A safe place to... To what? _Die_? No, not when he could save her. Taking her to the lake was giving up. There must be another way. They would have the rest of their lives to visit a lake, when Freya was better.

But if she _did_ die, and here in Camelot, without seeing a lake one last time, would he be able to live on knowing he hadn't even given her the little he _could_ have?

He forced the thought away and quickly slipped Morgana's dress over her head and lifted her up into his arms.

He would carry Freya into the castle, into Gaius' quarters. Into his own room, even. In the darkness, everyone in search of the Bastet, taking no note of a servant carrying what looked like a simple bundle (he placed his coat over her head, and the skirt of the dress covered her feet so that it looked more like he was carrying a pile of laundry than a _girl_), no one would notice him.

Once safely inside, after creeping through numerous dark corridors, his heart pounding, Freya hearing every beat as her head lay limply in a place between his chest and shoulder, he got her into his room and placed her down on the bed. He left her, only for a moment, to spring down the steps and throw open some books and grab several remedies and bandages.

If he really was a great warlock, of any worth, surely between magic and medicine, he would find a way to make her better.

Where was Gaius? With Uther, maybe. Out looking for him, perhaps. The thought never crossed his mind any further than that. He was too preoccupied with saving Freya.

It was the longest hour he could recall. Merlin stitched and bandaged her wound himself. Her face went very white, and more than once he thought he'd lost her and almost broke down in utter despair. But, in the end, he thought, _she lies here -closer to being safe than she was an hour ago- and her chest still moves up and down. She breathes. She _lives_. I've rescued her, looked after her like I promised._

Freya, for her part, slept. At first feverishly, delirious and weak, thinking she was both dead and not dead somehow at the same time. Then more peacefully. Merlin's cure had not been the best, but it held. The wound was deep, yet he'd managed. Still, pain coursed through her, blurring out proper thought.

She awoke, at the very crack of dawn, to Gaius and Merlin whispering loudly outside the room.

"Where's the girl?"

Merlin's eyes must have shifted momentarily to his bedroom door.

"You brought her _here_?" Freya heard Gaius exclaim.

"Gaius, please..."

"_Merlin_!"

"What was I supposed to do?"

Freya heard their footsteps, coming closer, into the room. She closed her eyes tight, pretending to still be asleep.

They were standing above her now, looking down at the bed.

"Please, Gaius," said Merlin, "you didn't turn your back on me, don't turn your back on _her_. I've done the best I can, but..."

Gaius sighed. Merlin was no physician. _Someday_, perhaps. Maybe one even greater than he himself was. (Well, stranger things had happened before.) But not at the moment. "And just what do you propose to do with her, if she can be saved?"

"Keep her here," said Merlin, shrugging. "With us." Even if she could be healed, saved from death's door, Freya was not going to come bounding out of the bed at the peak of health, rosy-cheeked and ready to go. She was going to need looking after. And if Gaius was prepared to betray them to Uther again, then Merlin knew he, too, must be prepared. Prepared to take her and go, not leaving her alone for a moment this time to change her mind -out of fear or kindness- and slip away.

Folding his arms across his chest, Gaius exclaimed, "Merlin, everyone is looking for this Druid girl; what do you think they're going to say when they see a young girl suddenly living with us?"

A thought flashed through Merlin's racing yet utterly resolved and unmoved mind like a shooting star blazes across a dark, clear sky. "What if she _wasn't_?"

"What do you mean?"

Merlin smirked, feeling suddenly clever and brave. "What if she wasn't a girl?" He paused, letting that sink in. "What if we told Uther you needed more help because I'm such a clumsy idiot and I ruin more than I'm worth on my own?"

Freya cracked an eye open. Did Merlin truly mean it? Did he mean to make a boy of her, so that she might stay in Camelot? Given that she hadn't attacked him last night, he seemed to be the first person who could keep her calm as a Bastet, which took care of _that_, to some extent, but how would she ever manage to be a _boy_? How could she act like one? Would she be expected to speak in a low, grunting voice? Doubtless she would have to wear men's clothing all the time from here on out, if Merlin was really in earnest about this, but there must be more to it. Ways of acting and thinking... Thank goodness going to relieve one's self was a personal matter, for she could not possibly imagine having to do it standing up.

Raising an eyebrow, Gaius muttered something in disbelief, asking -it would appear- exactly how Merlin intended to turn their overtly female guest (all the more so as she was wearing Morgana's dress) into a young man.

Laughing, Merlin said, "I think, if I'm really this great warlock, I can manage turning one Druid girl into a boy apprentice."

Gaius snorted, but he didn't disagree or threaten to turn her over to Uther.

Realizing Freya was awake, Merlin gently put a hand on her arm. "What do you say, Freya? Would you like me to turn you into a boy?"

There was a twinkle in his eye, and she understood. Merlin had no intention of using magic; this would be a transformation done by guile, whatever clothing Merlin could spare, and a pair of scissors. So she nodded.

"I'm so sorry for that sorcerer did to you," he told her. "But this is how I'm going to save you."

"Merlin, you have nothing to be sorry for." Freya smiled faintly. "You'd already saved me. You made me feel loved."

"Gaius?" Merlin looked over his shoulder, hopefully, at his guardian.

The old physician grunted and nudged Merlin out of the way so he could get a better look at Freya's wound. Merlin had not botched it up nearly so badly as he'd feared, though it was lucky it had held so well and that it had actually _helped_ Freya rather than hindered her. With a little effort, he could make it better still and keep her going. It was a dangerous game to be playing -Freya was no Merlin, she was very different from him- but he feared -in a way that Uther never feared in regards to his own son and ward- that Merlin would never forgive him if he failed her now; if he left her to die.

Now that Merlin had a plan, a way -however faulty- to keep their secret safe. Even if it did mean adding another ugly tentacle to their deception.

"The wound was very deep," Gaius confirmed, after examining it, Freya still and pale, as if she were frightened he would think her -and her grievous injury- not worth the trouble. Or perhaps she was just a little afraid of _him_ on his own merits; aside from Merlin, she wasn't used to trusting people yet. "But it's not infected. If you're careful, and we keep a close eye on it, seeing that it doesn't become so, you should make a full and -given the circumstances- remarkable recovery. You're an extremely fortunate girl."

"Thank you," Freya finally squeaked out, glancing from Gaius to Merlin out of the corner of her eye.

"Come, we'll leave her to rest." Gaius put an arm around Merlin and tried to lead him out of the room.

"No, I want to stay."

"_Merlin_." On this, Gaius would not be moved; he had been pushed around, against his better judgement, far more than he could already stand for the moment. "She needs rest if she's to recover properly, and you need to sit down and eat something yourself before you pass out."

"I'll be back soon," he promised Freya before leaving, shrugging off Gaius' grip and bending down to kiss her forehead and stroke her hair.

A catch formed in Gaius' throat, a memory coming back to him as soft as a stray feather caught in a gentle breeze. It was of his own old love, from the days when he, though a great deal older than Merlin currently was, still felt quite young in comparison to _now_, had fallen for his first -and only- girl. Or rather, _woman_. She too had been a mite too old to be called a girl, even then, just as he'd been grown too much to be called a boy. He was already a physician in those days of magical experimentation right before the onset of the Great Purge. _Alice_. That was her name. All this time, he had thought Merlin foolish, impulsive, protecting the Druid girl because he believed it the only right thing to do and had naturally grown attached to her and her well-being. It had never occurred to Gaius till right then, that very moment, that Freya -cursed or not- was _Merlin's_ Alice.

After Freya had slept a long while, regaining her strength, and Gaius had given her leave to get up out of Merlin's bed and come into the main part of their quarters with them, they had her sit on a stool by the best light and Merlin, with a pair of silver scissors, cut off all her long, dark hair. He watched it fall in beautiful clumps on the floor all around the stool.

And when it was over and done, Merlin gathered up all the hair and put it in a small pouch. Then he waited for Freya to change into his clothes he'd managed to spare, which were a little too large for her but would do fine if she rolled up the sleeves and wore a suitable belt, and took the dress he had 'borrowed' from Morgana's wardrobe claiming it had moths and needed immediate and total burning to save the entire citadel from a nasty infestation that would result in everybody walking around stark naked, folding it and tucking it away into an oaken chest he would keep under his bed. On top of the dress, before closing the lid down, he placed the leather pouch with Freya's cut-off hair. These things would be kept safe in there. This would be their secret. Maybe someday Freya would be able to take out this dress and be the Druid girl who looked like a princess again. But for now she was better off being_ Freyr_, a serving-boy not so different from Merlin himself.

A day or so later, Arthur stumbled across Merlin and the new serving-boy, tending to a fire in one of the guest chambers.

He was very odd, that serving-boy, Arthur thought.

The boy rarely spoke, and was probably a simpleton of some kind, yet he was quick-fingered, and you never had to tell him anything more than once. For some reason, he was also extremely skittish. Afraid of his own shadow, this boy -Frey something or other- made Merlin seem almost..._brave_...in comparison. Strangely enough, _Merlin_ was the only person he seemed comfortable with. If assigned to work alongside another servant for any given task, while he obeyed and usually did his work as well as when he _was_ with Merlin, he always looked continually ill at ease. What bonded them, Arthur never understood. They both were scrappy-looking, and poorly dressed, and dark-headed, but those hardly seemed factors to base a friendship on.

Merlin and the serving-boy hadn't noticed Arthur standing there, didn't realize he was in the room with them. The serving-boy whispered something to Merlin and he took the boy's hand and squeezed it, tenderly rubbing the back of it with his thumb, smiling in a rather demented and affectionate fashion.

Arthur laughed, startling them.

Merlin dropped Freya's hand.

Like a mouse, Freya ducked her head and zipped out of the chamber, leaving the prince and his manservant alone. Merlin wouldn't grudge her that, he knew she was uncomfortable around Arthur, whose father would see her dead if he knew who she really was.

"Arthur-"

"I told you before, Merlin, all I care about is that you put in a full day's work."

Merlin shook his head, noticing Arthur was holding back a smirk and trying not to burst out laughing again. "You've got this wrong."

Really, Arthur knew he probably did. He didn't_ actually_ believe his manservant had worn that dress he'd seen him walking the corridors carrying without plausible cause, and he didn't really believe he fancied boys, either. There was probably an explanation for both. Only Arthur didn't care about that. Simply because teasing him about it was such fun.

Raising his eyebrows in jest, Arthur said, "Don't worry, I've always known you were a bit of a whoopsie."

"That's not very nice."

Arthur considered. "It is a bit unfair."

"Like when you threw water at me."

"Or when you called me fat...?"

"Why was that unfair?"

"Because I am not-" Without finishing his sentence, Arthur reached out and pulled Merlin into a headlock, giving him a noogie so hard he thought his_ brain_ was going to be bruised. "Still think I need to get in shape?"

"No! No! No, no, no, no!"

Arthur smiled and let him go. "That's better."

"Thanks." Merlin, still a little dizzy from the noogie, prepared to leave.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Before you go off and do...whatever it is you and your new friend do all day...I have a few more chores for you."

Merlin bit his lower lip and struggled against a groan.

"You need to polish my armour, wash my clothes, and clean my room."

**A/N: Did you know that in Arthurian Legend sometimes the Lady of the Lake _does_ pretend to be a boy so she can be near Merlin unquestioned? **


End file.
